Where I grew up, we had this fabulous back yard. Three houses backed up to it. They stood high on an embankment. It was 18 cement stairs down to the basement level and another 16 stairs, if you took that way down to the yard. Most of the time we just ran down the hill next to the stairs. Sometimes we laid on our sides and rolled.

About 150 yards from the hill with the stairs was the river bank. From here to there was all green, green grass, not a fence in sight. I once did 741 somersaults across that expanse. It’s a record that I obviously still cherish.

A fence across that grassy field would’ve undreamed an endless stream of childhood somersaults. We wouldn’t have thought of doing many things that we did.

Fences would have changed our thinking. They have a way of dividing our view into greener and not so green grass. The worst are the fences disconnect us from our potential. Build a fence around your goals, and you’ll surely not reach them.

Draw a fence around your heart, and people will stay out.

I don’t like fences. They make it hard to set records we never forget.

At age 20, I used to get tied up in knots about who I was. I wanted to be authentic, true to myself in every action, every feeling, every breath that I took.

Part of the problem was that I lived in my head. I over-thought the idea.

I understood that it’s rare to feel one emotion purely. Love, joy, happiness, a bit of fear, some nostalgia, a touch of kindness, or maybe a bit of insecurity, anger, forgiveness, compassion; some understanding, some hurt, some sadness, love unrequited, other “stuff” — emotions seem to come mostly in groups that can’t be sorted out.

I wondered if I feel 10% forgiveness and 60% hurt is the forgiveness any less me? Couldn’t I choose to focus on either one and still be true to who I am?

That’s when I would get confused. I had no metric to decide which feeling to go with. If I chose a “positive” feeling or one that is other-centered was I being a “people pleaser”? If I chose a “negative” one, was I being selfish?

I was only 20. I didn’t have much life experience from which to draw. It was probably frustration that made me realize that my focus on the present was keeping me confounded. Finally, I looked to the future.

Once my focus turned to Who do I want to be? Being true to myself suddenly became easy.

When I need a decision on how to act, I put my faith in the person I want to be. What would she do? How would she feel about this? The person I aspire to become became my role model and my counsel.

My truth became firmly footed in the other-centered person I hope to become. My journey found a direction and a purpose, a heading toward the person I could possibly be. I’ll never reach her, because every moment I imagine that potential as slightly more.

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